


First Row On The Moon

by sheliesshattered (glasscannon)



Series: For As Long As We Get [3]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Arguing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Episode Fix-It: s08e07 Kill the Moon, Episode: s08e07 Kill The Moon, F/M, Fluff, Happy Ending, Kissing, Making Up, POV Clara Oswin Oswald, Post-Episode: s08e07 Kill the Moon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:00:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22842139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glasscannon/pseuds/sheliesshattered
Summary: The discovery of an alien life about to hatch out of the moon puts the Doctor and Clara’s new relationship to the test.Kill The MoonAU, sequel toThe Impossible Soldier.
Relationships: Twelfth Doctor/Clara Oswin Oswald
Series: For As Long As We Get [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642132
Comments: 28
Kudos: 89





	First Row On The Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue in the first section is heavily borrowed and remixed from the episode Kill The Moon.

“I think that it’s unique,” the Doctor said, his tone awed. “I think that’s the only one of its kind in the universe. I think that it is... utterly beautiful.”

Clara stared at the hologram the Doctor had produced, at what appeared to be a kind of dragon, curled into a tight ball inside the moon. _Beautiful_ was right, though she shuddered to think of how big it would be once it hatched. Or what would happen to the moon when it did.

“How do we kill it?” Lundvik demanded.

Startled, Clara looked from the astronaut to the Doctor and back again, a chill working its way down her spine. She’d seen the nuclear bombs they’d brought, rows and rows of them. _How_ wasn’t the question they should be asking, the _how_ was obvious. But rather, _should they_? Should they snuff out this life for the sake of everyone on the planet below? Or was there a way to save both the hatchling and humanity?

The Doctor had gone ominously silent, his expression stony.

She crossed her arms and turned back to Lundvik. “Why do you want to kill it?”

“It’s a little baby!” Courtney objected over the video link from the TARDIS. Her ‘disruptive influence’ reputation aside, when you got right down to it, she really was something special, Clara thought. A fifteen year old with that kind of empathy, who had fearlessly walked onto an alien spaceship and accepted the offer of a trip to the moon like it was any other Wednesday.

But Lundvik was clearly unmoved. “Doctor, how do we kill it?” she said again.

“Kill the moon?” he asked, his voice a dangerous sort of quiet.

Lundvik nodded, and the Doctor used the sonic to turn off the hologram. Clara could practically feel the muffled anger radiating off of him. Anyone who could look at the image of an unborn creature, something he had declared _beautiful_ and _unique_ , and immediately think of nothing but murdering it, didn’t deserve to see that image anymore.

“Kill the moon,” he repeated, louder. “Well, you have about a hundred of the best man-made nuclear weapons, if they still work. If that’s what you want to do.”

No, _no_ , they were not going to validate Lundvik’s murderous instincts without even looking for another solution. “Doctor, wait—” Clara started, but the astronaut cut her off.

“Will that do it?” 

“A hundred nuclear bombs?” the Doctor demanded. “Set off right where we are? Right on top of a _living, vulnerable creature_?” His anger was starting to boil to the surface now, voice sharp and words harsh. “It’ll never feel the sun on its back!”

“And then what?” Lundvik pressed. “Will the moon still break up? You said, you said we had an hour and a half?”

“Well, there’ll be nothing to make it break up,” he shot back. “There will be nothing trying to force its way out. The gravity of the _little dead baby_ will pull all the pieces back together again. Of course, it won’t be very pretty. You’d have an enormous corpse floating in the sky. You might have some very difficult conversations to have with your kids.”

“I don’t have any kids,” Lundvik muttered, as though that absolved her of this choice.

“Stop,” Clara said before she could get any further down the path of destroying the alien lifeform beneath their feet. “Right, listen. This is a— this is a _life_. I mean, this must be the biggest life in the universe.”

“It’s not even been born!” Courtney put in.

“It is killing people,” Lundvik snapped. “It is destroying the Earth.”

“You cannot blame a baby for kicking!” Clara countered, growing more frustrated the more insistent the other woman became. They weren’t even taking the time to consider other options, to try to find a plan that could save everyone.

“Let me tell you something,” Lundvik said seriously. “You want to know what I took back from being in space? Look at the edge of the Earth. The atmosphere, that is paper-thin. That is the only thing that saves us all from death. Everything else, the stars, the blackness — that’s all dead. Sadly, that is the only life any of us will ever know.”

She stared at her in disbelief, stunned by her shortsightedness. Clara had been out there, with the stars and the blackness, seen the wide variety of forms that life had created throughout the universe. She’d met sentient stars and visited civilisations orbiting suns whose light had not yet reached Earth. It was all so dazzling, and wondrous, and _alive_. She couldn’t fault Lundvik for not sharing that point of view, but the creature about to be born out of the moon was _proof_ that Earth wasn’t the only spot of life in the cosmos, proof that there was so much yet for humanity to discover. And all Lundvik could think of was killing it.

Courtney echoed her thoughts, bless her, but still Lundvik refused to consider any alternatives. As the Doctor talked Courtney through bringing the TARDIS to them, Clara grasped for a solution to the problem. There had to be some way to both protect the Earth and save the life of the hatchling, _something_ they could do. 

She looked to the Doctor, who seemed to have folded in on himself, resigned to the inevitability of Lundvik’s bombs. She’d seen this from him before, this passivity, usually right before he came up with a clever plan to save the day.

Across the room, Lundvik was beginning to set the detonators for the nuclear bombs.

“No, stop, we need to discuss this!” Clara said, taking a step towards her.

“We haven’t got time!” Lundvik insisted, continuing her task.

“We are not just going to kill it without even talking about it! If we let it live, if it hatches, what happens? Doctor?”

He glanced up at her and away again, refusing to engage.

Well, _fine_. Clara forged ahead on her own, unwilling to give up. “The moon, the moon would be gone, but the Earth could survive that, right? No more tides, they’d have to relaunch satellites, but Earth would recover.”

“It’s not going to just stop being there,” Lundvik replied angrily, “because inside the moon, Miss, is a gigantic creature forcing its way out. And when it does, which is going to be _pretty damn soon_ , there are going to be huge chunks of the moon heading right for Earth, like whatever killed the dinosaurs, only ten thousand times bigger!”

“But the moon isn’t made of rock and stone, is it?” Clara said. “It’s made of eggshell.”

“Oh, God,” Lundvik groaned. “Okay, okay, fine. If, by some miracle, the shell isn’t too thick, or if it disperses, or if it goes into orbit, whatever, there’s still going to be a massive _thing_ there, isn’t there, that just popped out. And what the hell do you imagine that is? What the hell do you imagine it _wants_? You can’t blame a baby for kicking? I suppose you can’t blame a newborn for demanding a meal, either!”

“You don’t know that it will harm the Earth!”

“And you don’t know that it won’t! Are you really willing to risk the lives of everyone on the planet just to save some alien creature?”

Clara shook her head. “I’m going to need something a little more certain if I’m going to stand by and let you kill a baby!”

“Oh, you want to talk about babies?” Lundvik shot back. “You’ve probably got babies down there now, your children, maybe grandchildren. Think of _them_.”

She stared at her, banishing the image of Orson Pink from her mind. She _didn’t_ have children on Earth right now, she would _never_ have— That was the path she had turned away from, the life she had given up to be with the Doctor.

She turned to him, standing so quietly at the edge of the room, staring at his hands. “How do we solve this, Doctor? What do we do?” 

He looked up at her, his face a mask of calm. “Nothing.”

“ _What_?”

“ _We_ don’t do anything. I’m sorry, Clara. I can’t help you.”

“Of course you can help!”

“The Earth isn’t my home. The moon’s not my moon,” he shrugged. “Sorry.”

“No, come on. You’ve seen Earth’s future, you can tell us what happens.”

“That’s not how this works, and you know it!” he replied. “History is in flux, Clara, it always is. You always get the choice about your future, but I can’t make it for you!”

“Yeah, well, I can’t make it, either,” she said.

“Luckily there’s three of you. A teenager, an astronaut, and a schoolteacher, who better to make this decision? It’s time to take the stabilisers off your bike. You don’t need a Time Lord. Kill it. Or let it live. It’s your moon, womankind. It’s your choice. I can’t do this for you.”

“So you’re just going to stand there?” she demanded.

“Absolutely not,” the Doctor said, over the sound of the TARDIS arriving. The door squeaked, and Courtney emerged.

“I am _asking_ for your help!” Clara said to him, her anger rising.

“Hang on a minute,” Lundvik said. “We can get in there, can’t we? You can sort it out with that thing.”

“No,” the Doctor said, with a horrible sort of finality. “Some decisions are too important not to make on your own.”

Clara watched in disbelief as he turned towards the TARDIS. “Doctor?” she called. When he didn’t acknowledge her, she nearly shouted after him, but stopped herself. To hell with that, she wasn’t going to be the sort of woman to stand there and yell at the retreating form of her— her _boyfriend_? That she didn’t even know the right word to apply to the Doctor now only made her angrier, and she followed him with long, quick strides, pushing through the TARDIS doors before he could do something absolutely idiotic like dematerialise and leave her there with the moon going to pieces beneath her feet.

“No, you do not do that,” she snapped as she slammed the doors shut behind her. “You do not walk away and leave me alone in that kind of situation! That is _not_ how this works.”

He looked up at her from the far side of the console as though surprised that she had followed him. “I told you, can’t make this decision, Clara.”

“But you expect _me_ to make it?”

“I have faith that you’ll make the right choice,” he said, voice open and sincere.

Clara stared at him in disbelief. “Honestly, do you have music playing in your head when you say rubbish like that? And what was it you said a minute ago — time to take the stabilisers off my bike? I’ve had just about enough of the patronising today!”

“I’m not patronising you, Clara. It’s not my Earth, it’s not my moon, I can’t make this decision for you. This is me _respecting_ you, letting you make your own choice about your future, without putting my thumb on the scale.”

“ _My_ future?” she demanded.

The Doctor shot her a confused look. “It’s only 2049. Somewhere down there—” 

“There is no older version of me on Earth right now,” she interrupted him. “No children, no grandchildren. My _future_ is not down there, Doctor, it’s here, with you. _That’s_ what we decided, all of six days ago! So this is just as much your moon as it is mine, and you can damn well help when it’s asked of you,” she snapped, anger forcing tears into her voice. “I cannot _believe_ you left me out there!”

He blinked at her, taken aback. “Right. Okay.”

“‘We don’t walk away,’ that was the _first_ thing you taught me,” she spat out. “Well, new rule: we don’t walk away from each other, either. We do not leave the other to make the impossible choice. We do it the same way we do everything: _together_. We’re _partners_ in this, and when people need our help, we _help them_. We. Don’t. Walk. Away. What would we do, if this was any other moon, any other civilisation? Leave them to figure it out on their own? Or try to offer the best guidance we can, help them come to the kindest solution that will save the most people? There has to be _something_ we can do, some way we can help—”

“Ah ha, _gotcha_!” the Doctor exclaimed, and Clara’s tirade stuttered to a halt. She looked over to where he was still stood on the other side of the console, his gaze fixed on one of the monitors, eyes moving rapidly as he read.

“Are you— are you even _listening_ to me?” she asked, her anger surging again.

“Hm?” he said, gaze darting to her and immediately back to the monitor. “Yes, of course,” he said absently. “And you might have noticed, I agreed with you a few minutes back. But you were on a roll, so I thought it best to let you speak your mind while I got on with the research.”

“You were—” she bit down on more language she really shouldn’t use, especially with one of her students so close by, “—‘researching,’ _while_ I was talking to you?”

“Yes. I was researching _and_ listening, Clara. I _can_ multitask, I am quite clever,” he added with another quick glance at her. “And we’re a bit short on time.”

She sighed and folded her arms. If not for the urgency and the life-or-death nature of the situation just outside the TARDIS doors she might have pressed the whole _listening when she talked_ issue, but she couldn’t deny that he had a point. “What, exactly, are you researching?”

“The solution to the problem, of course.”

“And? Five minutes ago you were convinced you couldn’t help. What have you got now?”

“Well, I figured anything that hatches from an egg is likely the offspring of something _else_ that hatched from an egg. Even if it has a hundred million year gestation time, even if it’s exceptionally rare, it can’t be the only one to ever exist...” He trailed off, still reading. “Ah, there we go, that explains the gravity.” He looked back up at her, expectant and excited. “Come and see,” he said, waving her over.

Her anger was ebbing away to a heavy annoyance, and she managed to cross towards him without stomping her feet.

“Meet the _Nebula Eater_ ,” the Doctor said, shifting the monitor so she could see it.

An article from the galactic hub greeted her, depicting a huge dragon-type creature, the sheer scale of its wingspan difficult for Clara to wrap her mind around. “ _That’s_ what’s inside the moon?” she gasped. “Is it a danger to Earth?” The damage a creature of that size could do, even accidentally, was terrifying to think of.

“No, no,” he assured her quickly. “It feeds exclusively on space gas, hence the name. It’s been using the Earth’s gravity, the warmth of the sun, and the protection of the nearby gas-giants as a nesting ground. But once it hatches, it’ll be outside Earth’s heliosphere within a week, I imagine. Probably head out towards Helix or Orion, at a guess.”

“But the... eggshells, whatever’s left of the moon— will that pose a risk to the Earth? Crash through the atmosphere, or screw up the tides even more?”

“That’s where this gets interesting,” the Doctor said, nearly grinning with the excitement of a new discovery. “Look,” he said, scrolling the article down to a subsection titled _Reproductive Cycle_.

Clara read quickly, absorbing as much as she could in fragmented segments: _...asexual reproduction in the final stage before hatching... significant but temporary increases in local gravity... nesting elements reform around the offspring once the hatchling breaks free... local gravity quickly renormalises..._

“Oh my god,” she breathed, taking in the information in front of her. “And if Lundvik kills it?”

“She’ll be murdering two babies, not one, and the gravity of Earth’s moon will never recover.”

“We have to tell her,” she said, looking up at the Doctor.

“Yep, before she does something incredibly stupid. Come on.”

He started for the door, and Clara swiftly caught up with him, halting him with a hand on his arm. “We will finish the rest of this conversation later,” she told him, pinning him with her gaze.

“Yes, ma’am,” he agreed seriously, and held the door open for her.

* * *

It was one thing to read about the hatching of a giant nebula-eating space dragon and quite another to watch it happen from two hundred and fifty thousand miles away. Even at that distance, the Nebula Eater was clearly visible, its newborn wings unfurling to dwarf the remnants of the shattered moon, and the new egg sheltered inside. 

Clara stood next to the Doctor, gazing in awe at the life they had helped save, and silently slipped her hand into his, grateful that she hadn’t had to face that decision alone.

* * *

Later, they sat curled together on Clara’s sofa, gazing up at the full moon through the windows of her sitting room. It would be years yet before the hatching cycle began, before the Nebula Eater’s gravity began to shift and affect Earth. But she knew it was there, now, growing and readying itself for the day it would break through its fragile shell and set off into the universe. They’d almost gotten it wrong today, almost killed a beautiful, innocent creature, out of fear of what the future might bring.

“Are you still angry with me?” the Doctor asked into the silence, his voice a low rumble beneath her ear.

“No,” she said softly, not taking her eyes off the moon or shifting out of his embrace.

They were quiet for several long minutes, then the Doctor muttered, “See, this is why I dislike hugs. They’re just a way to hide your face.”

Clara sighed and sat up, turning to look at him more fully, her bent knees resting against his thigh. “I’m not angry,” she said. “I’m...”

“Don’t say ‘disappointed’, that’s just a fancy way of saying ‘I’m angry but I don’t want to admit to it.’”

She smiled a little at that and shook her head. “Really, I’m not angry, not anymore. But I do think we ought to talk about it.”

“Talking seems to be a big thing with you lately,” the Doctor said in a low voice, glancing at her and away again.

“Yeah, well, get used to it,” she replied, nudging him. “Best way to get past a row, my mum always said. You have to talk it through, make sure there’s nothing left unsaid that can fester.”

“We did the right thing today, Clara,” the Doctor pointed out. “We saved the Nebula Eater, saved the Earth, got Courtney home safe and on-time. So it took us a little shouting to get there, what’s that matter?”

“We have to make sure it doesn’t happen again,” she said reasonably.

“Well, if we run into another Nebula Eater, now we know the signs, and we can make sure the locals don’t try to blow it up.”

“Not that bit, Doctor,” she said, shaking her head and unable to keep from smiling a little. “The shouting at each other bit.”

He watched her for a moment. “Which is, I take it, a serious problem?”

“It was just a row, it happens. Our first row. And it was on the moon, because of course it was.”

He frowned in confusion. “We’ve had plenty of rows before.”

“Well, sure, but it’s different now.”

He only looked more confused. “How?”

“This was our first row since— I don’t even really know what the right term is. This, us,” she said, waving a hand to indicate the two of them. “This new phase we’ve been in since last week, whatever we want to call it.”

“And that’s fundamentally different than before?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

“I don’t want to reignite the ‘not your boyfriend’ argument, but yes, I’d say so.”

“ _Why_?”

He sounded so genuinely uncertain that Clara took pity on him and answered honestly rather than tease him about it. “Well, there’s the kissing, for one thing.”

“Right. That is new.”

“And finally talking about how we feel,” she added. “Me breaking up with Danny, making that leap. Deciding that it’s going to be you and me, for however long we get. _This_ , whatever it is. There’s lots of terms for this kind of relationship, but none of them feel quite right for us.”

“Yeah,” the Doctor agreed, sounding thoughtful.

“Well, whatever we want to call it, people in this sort of relationship argue sometimes, it’s completely normal. So long as we talk it out, don’t let hurt feelings linger, it’s fine. You know this, Doctor, you’ve done this before.”

“Not like this,” he said, meeting her gaze. “Not with you.”

Clara smiled at him. “We’ll figure it out. A few bumps in the road are nothing to worry about.” She leaned in and kissed him, steadying herself with a hand against his chest. He returned it hesitantly at first, but quickly found his bearings, reaching up to cup her face with one hand.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you today,” she said when they parted, pressing her forehead to his. “It scared me, when I thought you were going to leave me alone there to make that decision. I made you promise once that you’d never send me away again, and I think I’m still afraid that someday you will.”

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “I promise I won’t send you away,” he said in a low tone. “And I won’t leave you alone in that kind of situation again.”

“Thank you,” she breathed, fighting back tears. She hugged him closer, listening to the steady beat of his hearts.

“I really did think I was doing the right thing, leaving the choice to you,” he said after a moment. “Especially after last week. When it comes to your future, it doesn’t feel right for me to be the one making the decisions. It ought to be up to you.”

“But that’s the thing, it’s not just my future anymore. It’s _ours_. Which means we make decisions together.”

“Another new rule?”

She smiled against him. “If you like. No dying. We don’t walk away from each other. We make decisions together. We talk things out after a row.” She ticked them off on her fingers.

“Yes, ma’am,” the Doctor replied.

“No, none of that— rule three. What do _you_ think of the proposed rules?”

He shrugged. “I think they’re a good idea. And that perhaps we ought to have one about kissing after a row, too.”

Clara laughed and craned her neck up to accept a quick kiss. “Agreed. And we seem to have silently come to the same conclusion on another rule about kissing: not in front of my students.”

“If you hadn’t noticed, there aren’t any students here now,” he pointed out in a low tone.

“How very observant of you,” Clara said lightly, and for a long while they didn’t talk.

The moon had passed out of the view of her windows, continuing the climb to its zenith, when Clara got up to turn on another lamp in her sitting room. She should go to sleep soon, she knew — she would have work tomorrow, assuming they didn’t sneak in another trip in the TARDIS before then — but she couldn’t bring herself to break the spell of a quiet evening at home with the Doctor.

“You’re not the first with the kissing, you know,” he said when she joined him again on the sofa.

She gave him a bemused smile. “You’ve been married four times before, had children and grandchildren. I didn’t think I was the first.”

“No, I mean— your echoes.”

“Ah.”

“Handsy lot in general, those women with your face. A few of them decided to take it a step further.”

“Well, you can hardly blame us,” Clara said airily. “A dashing mad man falls out of the sky with a snogbox, what are we meant to think?”

“It’s not a snogbox!” the Doctor said, scowling, and she had to laugh, remembering how his last face had insisted on the same.

“Kinda is, now,” she grinned at him.

He flapped his hands at her, struggling to find the words. “The rules are different, for you, for this,” he finally said. “That doesn’t excuse your echoes taking liberties.”

Still laughing, she kissed him again, for no other reason than because she could. “I suppose I was already in love with you when I went into your timestream,” she said when she pulled back and settled beside him again. “I suspect that’s part of why I did it in the first place. Which means they all sprang into life with that as part of their fundamental makeup, like being short or having brown hair.”

“Or eyes the size of saucers.”

“Or the ability to put up with you,” she countered lightly.

“Ha ha ha,” he returned dryly, but she could tell that his thoughts had moved on to something else, his gaze distant.

She let him brood for a few minutes then said, “Alright, something’s on your mind, so: out with it. Don’t let anything fester.”

He hesitated before asking, voice low and serious, “What is this for you?”

“What do you mean?” she frowned at him in confusion.

“I made some assumptions today and that got me into trouble,” the Doctor said slowly, gaze darting up to find hers. “And I’d like to avoid doing that again. I’m trying to understand what this ‘new phase’ is, or whatever you called it.”

“Don’t you know?” she asked, looking at him curiously.

“I really don’t. You gave up Danny for this, gave up that whole future. When you said there was no version of you down there on Earth, no children or grandchildren, you sounded so sure. You said you were in love with that old soldier version of me, but you talk about the future like you’re utterly certain of it, of this choice you’ve made. I’m just— I’m trying to understand.”

Clara smiled at him fondly and shook her head. “Daft old man. I’m in love with _you_. With this version of you, the one sitting right beside me. And every version of you that came before. Every face, every good day, every bad day. Every bit of you, for always. What is this for me? This is the defining relationship of my life, Doctor. Me and you, for as long as we get. I can’t promise you forever, but I can promise you all of my tomorrows. So yes, I am utterly certain about my future, about the only thing I need to know about it: that you will be in it.”

He was quiet for a long while, mulling that over, then without warning blurted out, “I think we should get married.”

She blinked up at him, shocked into silence for a moment. “I— um. Wow. Where did that come from?”

“You said you didn’t know what to call it, what we are to each other. It would simplify things.” He shrugged awkwardly. “I think we should get married.” He seemed completely sincere about it, which only made the whole thing stranger.

“Doctor, I don’t need a piece of paper or some legality to make this official,” she said, shifting around to see him better. “I told you, I’m in this for the long-haul. And I know you’ve been married before, I wouldn’t ask you to—”

“You’re not asking. _I’m_ asking,” he said, flicking his gaze to hers and away again.

“But... why? Doesn’t seem like you’d be much interested in the legalities, either.”

He sighed and scrubbed one hand through his hair. “It’s not about the legal paperwork. It’s more... cultural, I suppose you could say.”

She turned that over in her mind. “Time Lord thing, then, yeah?”

He nodded slowly. “On... on Gallifrey, everyone’s a touch-telepath,” he explained, meeting her eyes again and smiling slightly, though it was pained, and Clara realised how incredibly difficult this must be for him to talk about. “Most people live in giant, densely populated cities, have done for thousands of generations. In that kind of situation, there _must_ be rules about who you let into your mind, and how deeply. That’s what marriage is to Time Lords. There are parts of myself that I _can’t_ share with you, unless we’re married. Parts of me that will always stay locked away. This is the defining relationship of your life? Well, it is for me, too. And I don’t want to go about it with half-measures.”

That explanation wasn’t at all what she had expected. “That... makes sense,” she finally managed. 

“So,” he said when she didn’t say anything else. “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” she repeated, still trying to wrap her mind around everything he’d just said, and the sudden realisation of where they were headed. “I think...” She took a deep breath and looked up at him. “I think you should ask me properly.”

He darted his gaze around in confusion. “Did I not just—” 

“Doctor, this is the only time I am ever going to do this,” she said. “You are it for me, for life. So if I’m only ever going to get the one marriage proposal, I want it to be a _proper_ one, is all.”

He shot her a narrowed-eye look. “Now would probably be a bad time to bring up the whole ‘egomaniacal control freak’ thing, wouldn’t it?”

Clara wrinkled up her nose at him, mostly to keep from laughing. “Very bad time, yes.”

“Do I have to get down on my knees?” he whinged. “Only, that crevasse I jumped into today was actually quite deep, and I didn’t want to mention it but I am rather sore, and your sofa is surprisingly comfortable.”

From the twinkle in his eyes she knew he was teasing her, and she pursed her lips around the laugh that was still trying to escape. “No, you don’t have to get down on your knees, daft old man. Just, _ask me properly_!”

“Oh, alright, fine. Properly, properly,” he muttered, shaking out his hands as though he needed to be warmed up and limber for this, and she smothered a giggle. 

He drew in a deep breath and took both her hands in his, catching and holding her gaze with an intensity that made her breathing go shallow. 

Time and space seemed to crystalise around her, and Clara was starkly conscious of being in her body, in _this_ instant, in _this_ place, sitting beside _this_ man. Beyond the current moment, the past and the future seemed to be tangible things. There was everything that had come before, the years of her own life and all the lives of her echoes, every time she had met the Doctor, stretching out behind her. And there was everything yet to come, the universe expanding, planets forming, stars blinking into existence and out again, all the years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds she would spend with this man, on this path they had chosen.

She was abruptly aware of a door in her mind, the line of demarcation between the inner world and the outer world, between the things that were Clara Oswald and the things that were not. There was a sense of equilibrium between them, the inner and the outer, her personal universe compressed to fit into her five-foot-one frame, but not smaller, not lesser. Everything _she_ was, in balance with everything _that_ was. 

And on that door, there came a tapping.

“Clara Oswald,” the Doctor said seriously, and the knocking at the edge of her mind intensified. “Will you marry me?”

She could feel her body, her current place in time and space, the heat of the room, the softness of her sofa, the light of the moon outside. She could feel the Doctor, his hands just slightly cool on her own, the physicality of him in that outer world, as stable as always. But she could feel him just on the other side of that mental door as well, asking for entry, closer than he had ever been.

Her answer would change everything, solidify the trajectory of her future. It would open that door, pair it with the matching one in the Doctor’s mind. The equilibrium would hold, she knew. The borders of her internal universe would remain in place, but they would gain another dimension, transcend and unfurl in ways she could hardly conceptualise with the door still closed. 

_Is this what you want?_ she had asked the Doctor, and the question echoed back to her in the confines of her mind. _To build a life with me? Just you and me, for however long we get?_

“Yes,” she breathed, utterly certain.

The Doctor grinned at her, and the door at the borders of her mind flew open, near to bursting with joy.

**Author's Note:**

> I have more sequels planned for this AU, so be sure to subscribe to the series to get notified of future updates! :D


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